Summary: With Coruscant in Peril, Our Jedi Heroes must Save
the Day
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Note: Two of my favorite things in life are music and food, in
some order. I think maybe The Mighty Qui-Gon and His Handy
Apprentice sandwich very well between. :-)
The Storyteller sat like a brown and ecru Sorke, the absolute
stillness of his body broken only by the slow blink of
impassive eyelids.
His glare could have fried an eggbud.
Am I to understand...(double glare)...that my Afternoon Nap is
less important than your Story Habit?
[...(adamant glare)...(nod, nod)...]
...(really good sweeping glare)...Does no one teach respect
for the Elders anymore?
[...(nod, nod)...(baby smiles)...]
...(sigh)...You shall probably all become Siths without the
least bit of trouble...(grumble, grumble)...
[...(brilliant grins)...]
Right...(resigned glare)...Then I shall tell you a
Story. A Story salted with Flair and pfeppered with Dash,
flavored with bits of Glory and Pannache, simmering with gobs
of...
[Hey...didn't we already do food?]
...(raised eyebrows sprinkled with silence)...You want to tell
this Story?...
[...(buttoned lips)...]
Thank you.
Our Story Begins:
On the Shiny planet of Coruscant, deep inside the Council
Chamber, high atop the Assuredly Pointy Jedi Temple, Weighty
Issues were Looming...
The eyes of every Master in every comfy chair looked with
helpless wonder upon the Illustrious Figure of Master Qui-Gon
Jinn, industriously Knitting and Perling before them. Lips Not
Even Moving. Twelve bewildered heads swiveled as each row was
finished and the slowly growing...stuff...was whipped around to
have a fresh row applied.
Sitting quietly at the feet of the Great Master was his Handy
Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Planetary Rug-Hooking Champion and
Seamster Extraordinaire. Applying his Mark Seven Stitcher's
Friend with sensitive dexterity, he sorted the material as it
gathered in folds upon his Padawan Buzz and, in the flash of a
needle, whipped it into...something...with sleeves.
The Great Jinn blinked once, needles flashing, and looked up.
His eyebrows asked, 'Well?'
Little Green Yoda tucked that Bad Hand behind his back.
Clickety, clickety, clickety...ahhh!
Now. Pull up. Tie off...
"Padawan Mine." The Rich Voice of the Jedi Master set
molecules spinning as he looked down at his Apprentice, now
nearly buried in a Deep Fuschia mound of apparel. "Coming
up?"
Obi-Wan pushed from his feet as Qui-Gon lifted from his
armpits, the material spreading round their feet like a deep
purple lake.
"Well done, my Obi-Wan." The Rugged Qui-Gon laid a Muscular
smile upon the Sunny face before him.
"My digits are yours to command, Master." Grin.
Blink-blink.
The sound of teeth melting could be could be heard six blocks
away.
Yes...
"My Masters." The Tidy Team hauled up the lump of cloth from
the floor, shaking out the sinuous folds. "King Poosta, the
Humongous, is getting married in four Standard days time.
If you recall, the Honorable Jedi were invited." Qui-Gon
snapped his fingers. "Ah, let me rephrase that. The Honorable
Jedi were Commanded." He eyed the material sprawled across the
floor. "This is the Wedding Drape the Jedi shall present to the
King." His voice slid down a dramatic octave. "Or Die." At the
sudden gasp from the Council, the Courageous Master's steely
glance zipped right and left. "Perhaps you neglected to read
the Small Print?"
The quiet susurration of thumbs twiddling, fair filled the
room.
That rich voice settled in a caress over Obi-Wan. "My Padawan,
please illuminate Life As It May Become, should we Offend the
King."
Obi-Wan stepped forward slightly and spoke, his voice soft and
amiable.
"King Poosta is a Bastard. If he were in this room, you would
all be somewhere under his Butt." Involuntary eyes-up struck
every comfy chair. "Jedi are but appetizers in his quest for
the Big Banquet." Obi-Wan held up an exquisite hand,
forstalling comment. "His mass is enormous. The Force is but a
Squeetzy Fly to his whopping self. There are even those who
would swear that there is room for the Temple up his Backside."
Blinking slowly, he peered into the distance...
"It is said he rarely leaves his palace, due to the size of
his Rear." Blink, blink. "He has a very large fleet of Super
Giant Battle Dregs that could easily fire..missiles...of
enormous size into...our peaceful Planet." Blink. Blink. "We
must not ignore this King and...his Rump...to our detriment."
His focus drifted a bit. "The Jedi could possibly
be...overwhelmed...by the weaponry his hand...commands." He
backed up slowly to stand in front of the Rigid Qui-Gon. They
swayed the Sway of Heroes. "I believe I'm done now,
Master."
With Gungan-esque speed, the Mighty Jinn whipped his arm about
Obi- Wan's waist, plopped him down in the King's cloth, and
rolled him up rather lickety-splittish.
Hoisting his Padawan over one shoulder, the Flushed Master
basted one last thought over the dazed beings before him.
"Gnnnnph...Mmmnngf...Gagh..." And with a Whizz of Expectation,
he galumphed out of the Chamber.
There was silence for a moment. Then...
They...are...going...Right?
Lips pursed. Eyes blinked.
Little Green Yoda gave a careless-type wave.
Always go, they do...Just...Delay, there may be...
Oh...right...yeah...
"Obi-Wan, have you seen my toothbrush?"
"In your Satchel, Master."
"The Crulla fruit? You know I need my Crulla fruit."
"Yes, Master. In Cool Case Number 4."
"Padawan. You left the PreenGel here on the sink."
"No, Master. I've packed the Economy Travel Size in your
Duffle."
Qui-Gon patted the firm fanny conveniently close to hand. Not
a whisker out of place...
Right. Time to go!
Master and Padawan tossed the last case on the Trolley, jumped
on and started the motor. Its familiar Putt-Putt sent the
nearest denizens scurrying for cover.
"Wait, Obi-Wan! Wait!" That cry would have converted even the
meanest of Sith. "Where's Mr. Snurgley?"
Perched atop the mountain of bags, The Handy Apprentice leaned
over and smiled in The Mighty Jinn's ear. "In the Lube
Case...Master..." Yessss....
The trolley lurched forward. It was jolly well time for
Action!
Onward, Forceful Je-e-e-di-i,
Failure you pooh-pooh.
With your Best Foot forward,
No room for Boo-boo.
See you stand At Re-eady,
Saber clutched in hand.
Plunge it in and pull it out
Before It hits the fan.
Onward, Forceful Je-e-e-di-i,
Turning Dark to Light.
With your Strength and Passion
And your Great Eyesight.
And the soft Putt-Putt of the straining trolley faded away
down the halls of the Great Jedi Temple.
Big King Poosta wasn't merry at all, not merry at all was he.
He called for his mash and he called for his stew and he called
for his fricassee.
"I WILL EAT NOW!" The floor shook.
Upstairs, the bride shook. The Princess was a Dainty thing,
from a Dainty planet, with quite Dainty politicians, who would
rather Live than Die. So, here she was, engaged to
that...Monstrosity...downstairs. And suppose...She fanned
herself with vigor...suppose he wants...Babies?!
Oh my...
The Turgid Triumph chugged merrily along Hyperspace Channel
Seven (Diplomats and Salesmen Only) on its way to Wappa Prime,
home of King Poosta the Huge Bastard. If all went well, they
would be home and dry by Rest Day and there was a rematch
between the Jedi Joules and the Slithian Skitterwinks. Hot
damn!
In the meantime, there was a Wedding Waltz to practice, as the
Ode to Bliss came softly from the speakers.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
"Padawan." One, two, three. One, two, three. "I believe
your hand goes up here during the Pas de Trot, yes?"
"Of course, Master. However,..." He sashayed a tad closer.
One, two, three. One, two, three. "I thought we might try a bit
of Pas de Coup...for just a moment...hmmm?"
And the band played on...
Princess Liliola Pudwa gazed sadly in her mirror, dabbing at
her red- rimmed eyes as she looked back over This Horrendous
Day! Ohh! Horrible women-things measuring and tut-tutting,
bolts and bolts of Horrible material, not even my
colors!, Horrible food that moved when you weren't looking, and
that Horrible Man-thing that was going to be
her...her...Husband. (sob) Oh, it was too Horrible for
words!
Pitching herself on the bed, Pincess Liliola waited for the
World to End.
There was a Great To-Do when the Jedi arrived. Strident
tootles announced the turn of every corner, huge young women
strew gobbets of food before them and huge young men waved
furiously in every doorway.
[We must be wary, my Master. I sense a disturbance in the
Force...]
[Yes, Obi-Wan. I, too, sense it. Sort of a peckish feeling.
Most unusual.]
What, what?! Pincess Liliola grabbed ahold of the nearest
chair, Dainty bosom heaving, as the woman-thing repeated the
news. Jedi! Jedi are here! I'm saved!
Smiling a Dainty smile through her tear-stained face, she
planned a plan of Great Planning.
The Mighty Qui-Gon and His Handy Apprentice were led directly
to King Poosta, ensconced in his acreage of Throne Room.
There was a sudden blaaaat of announcement as they made their
studied way up the long aisle to the immense Dais, daintily
stepping over lumps of spent food and the odd lonesome bone.
Parking in front of one towering shoe, they made a Bow so
Perfect, their pleats squeaked. The Elegant Master spoke.
"Oh, Great Poosta, we are honored to be a part of this
Momentous Celebration. May your every Belch inspire awe in your
enemies and your every Fart destroy them entirely."
The King lapped his blubbery bottom lip over his flubbery top
one and smiled at them. At least...it looked sort of like a
smile. Might have been gas...
"The Honorable Jedi Council sends this Wedding Gift." Stepping
forward, the Perfect Pair held up the mound of fuscia-ness
slung between them. "Your Wedding Drape, Oh Colossal One." The
Mighty Qui- Gon smiled from behind his face. "With the
Council's Blessing."
"VERY PRETTY." Brrrruuucccchhh..."BUT NOT MUCH MEAT."
Oh, good.
...What?...Wait a minute...
"GO NOW. TOO THIN. NEED TO EAT MUCH FOOD." Rumble, rumble,
rumble...
Ah, yes. He did seem to be smiling...now.
Princess Liliola Pudwa slunk Daintily along the back corridors
of the immense Palace, Dainty white Designer dress flowing
softly off her Dainty shoulders as she peered round corner
after corner in her search for the illusive Jedi.
Damn! Where are they?
Ah, ha! What's this? A BS9D5 Cleaning Droid trundled by,
whistling quietly, multiple arms loaded with dirty sheets.
Princess Pudwa thought for a moment, blinked once, and headed
up the corridor.
In the rooms dedicated to the Jedi, all was not well. There
was Trouble Brewing in the Palace. They could Feel It!
But what. And where?
The Perspicacious Padawan stood staring out of the oversized
window overlooking the Wappa Prime Space Port. A Delicate Frown
marred his Strapping Features.
"Master. I believe there's something wrong with those Battle
Dregs. They don't look quite..."
The Dainty knock on the door caught them by surprise.
Exchange looks. Get dressed. Straighten furniture.
Ah, yes. Record time.
Obi-Wan opened the door. And saw...a Dainty Vision, all in
white, beautiful hair hung in two Dainty snoods from either
side of her Dainty head. She was inside in a flash of bobbing
bosom, panting out her tale of horror to the transfixed Jedi
before her.
"Big fat...Horrible...Won't marry that!...Babies!...Oh, it's
too Horrible!...Please help me get off Wappa Prime! You're my
only hope!" One Dainty wail later, she collapsed on the floor
in a puddle of white silks.
With ultimate finesse, Qui-Gon snatched up the Dainty Princess
and whumped her into the nearest closet. He smiled the smile of
the Perplexed. "Whoever you are, we'll save you. Come Sith or
High Water, we'll do..." He waggled his fingers.
"...something..." Whamming the door shut, he whirled and posed.
"Padawan...It is time to Sneak, it is time to Slink, it is time
to Peer into Little Hidey Places and Discover Stuff. Are you
ready? Right!"
Boots set on tippy-toe, they moved like brown and white fogs
out the door.
Everywhere they slunk, they saw huge, large, big people.
Everywhere they snuck, they "felt" enormous pangs of hunger.
Everywhere they tippy-toed, they saw not one sign of any other
wedding guests. Oh, they found their rooms all right. Just...no
people.
At last, outside the very back door of the Palace, they
found...A Sign.
It said - Palace Backyard Sale. Clothes, Shoes, Undies.
Cheap.
"Padawan Mine. I suspect it is Time to Check
Out."
"I agree, Master. And I suggest we..."
Ruuuunnnnn!
If there had been a race, they would'a won it.
Whoosh! to the room, Whiiish! to pack, Froooom! to fill out
the little questionaire about Quality of Housekeeping.
Okay...
"Hey!" Princess Liliola Pudwa stood tapping one Dainty foot,
glaring holes through their leggings. "What about me?! I
really need rescuing, okaaay?!"
Ah, yes...
"Master? We could..."
"Exactly, Padawan. Duffle Number Seven it is!" And with
another whoosh and one 'eeep!', the Dainty Princess was stowed
quickly away. "Don't worry, Princess!" The Thoughtful Master
shouted words of encouragement through the side of the duffle.
"We have friends on Alderaan. You can lay low until this blows
over!"
To the Space Port, with Legs Like the Wind!
As they ran, Super Giant Baggage Cart weaving before them, a
wave of Rage and Hunger came bounding through the Force.
Behindish, somewhat side-ish, and definitely frontish came the
huge rumbling of what could only be a thundering herd of
disgruntled Wappans, bent on stopping the Toothsome Duo from
escaping the Imminent Saucepan.
Golly! What to do?
"Master! Over there!" Of course. The unexpected, yet
convenient, if not locked, perfect, almost hidden, but not
quite, Side Door.
Wheeeeeeel the cart (...eeeep!...Not to worry, Princess!),
Wham! through the, now bigger, door and dash madly across the
Apron of the Wappa Prime Space Port.
"HEY MEAT! STOP RUNNING!" Rumble! Thunder! Rumble! Thunder!
The sound of Size Infinite Patent Leathers was getting
closer.
Now, it took a moment to sink in, but the Perceptive Padawan
finally got it.
"Master, stop! Look at this!" With a slam of brakes, the
Mighty Jinn whirled and turned, galloping back to Obi-Wan's
side. The Baggage Cart rolled merrily onward, 'eeeeping' at
steady intervals.
"(Buck up, Oh Princess!) What is it, Padawan Mine?"
They were standing in front of a Huge Battle Dreg, its shiny
self billowing in the breeze. Hmmmmm... Billowing...in the
breeze.
"Master...It's made out of...helium balloons...!"
And so it was! And so was every other Dreg on the Apron!
Ooooooooooooo...!
Far in the distance, the sound of approaching blubber was a
gentle reminder of squashes yet to come. Exchanging a Superior
Smile, the Perfect Pair loped on to their ship, dumped the
luggage (eeeeep! You're doing swell, Princess!), and lifted
off, just as the Globular Baddies rounded the last Dreg.
"Padawan Mine, as you spotted the contradiction, I shall allow
you the honors." With a dazzling grin, Obi-Wan reached for one
of the Turgid Triumph's Secret Weapons. A push of Red Button
Number Sixteen and - Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat! Five
hundred and sixty-two Gorbetian Spurldarts riddled the Wappa
Prime Space Port and, as the Dauntless Duo looked on with
carefully tempered glee, an entire fleet of Super Giant Battle
Dregs died the Death of Fffsssssssss...
The soft sunset painted a delicate glow on the wall of a
bedroom, somewhere in the depths of the Enormous Jedi
Temple.
Various and sundry items of clothing lay scattered all around
in heaps and piles, Dress Browns vying with undies and socks
for the little available space.
One Distraught Master stood trembling in the center of the
piles, eyes shut in furious thought. "He must be here, he
must be..." Deep breath. "Perhaps Obi-Wan..." The sound
of the sonic shower could be heard through the open door. Sigh.
"I'll just...wait..." Eyes still shut, he tried to think.
"Calm...calm... Okay. The last place was...the King's Palace,
right? Okay. Good, good. You're thinking now..."
In the distance, the shower cut off and the delightful
whistling of a cheerful, scrubbed Padawan made its way toward
the manhandled bedroom. In his misery, the Mournful Qui-Gon
barely noticed the arrival of his damp and glistening
Apprentice.
"Master?" The honeyed voice held the hint of a smile. "Are
you...redecorating?"
The Miserable Jinn shook his head, eyes still shut tight on
unshed tears. "Padawan...Oh, my Padawan. I can't find him." He
lifted both arms and dropped them with a huge sigh. "I've
looked everywhere...he's gone!"
"And who would that be, my Qui-Gon?"
Something in the voice opened the Master's eyes, then caught
his body and turned it slowly around.
There, in front of him, was his damply flushed Padawan, softly
smiling, huge bath towel caught up in both hands as he briskly
dried his hair
And there, too, was the object of his search. Perched upon the
grinning Apprentice, grasping firmly and snugly, the little
stitched face pointed directly at the Smiling Master, was Mr.
Snurgley.
"Obi-Wan..." The Wonderful Voice slipped into a Warm Burr.
"What have you two been doing?"
The Plucky Padawan lifted his brows and walked Mr. Snurgley to
his Master. "Why, Qui-Gon, Mr. Snurgley was showing me his new
trick." Delicious chuckle. "Just scratch him under his chin..."
And Mr. Snurgley Jumped for Joy...
Around the Storyteller, there was Absolute Silence. Every eye
was focused on the robed form sitting rock still on the
ground.
[I think he's dead...]
[Naaah...Look. One of his eyes just rolled back in his
head.]
[Oooooo, yeah...Let's see if the other one...yep! There it
goes!]
[How much you wanna bet he falls over next?]
[Well, let's see what I got in my pocket...]
With a soft whoosh, the Storyteller stood straight up,
scattering Young Ones right and left. He looked down with a
quick snippet of a smile, then spun completely around once, let
out a striking yodel and charged down the path toward the
Garden entrance.
Lying strewn on the ground like so many Norla leaves, the
Young Ones gazed with awe at the retreating figure.
[Golly! You think he's late for a meeting or something?]
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